The Turning (12 page)

When I asked Flora if she had a picture of Lucy and Norris, she told me to come with her, and we went to her room. Miles’s door was shut, but still Flora walked on tiptoe and put her finger to her lips. This was going to be—this had to be—top secret.

Flora shut her door, went to her bureau, and opened the drawer where she keeps her socks. They were so tiny, like doll socks, it broke my heart. I’d never realized how small her feet were until I saw those tiny socks. Anyway, she reached under the neat little stacks of socks and took out two photographs. She didn’t show me the first one, which she immediately put away again, but even from a distance I could tell that it was a print of the portrait downstairs—her mom and dad together with her mother’s family in India.

Then she held out the other photo and shut her eyes as if she couldn’t stand to look at it. I wondered why she’d agreed to show it to me. What did she want me to know? How much would she tell me now that her brother wasn’t around? And I thought how pleased Linda would be, what a great job she would think I was doing, if I found out something from Flora that Linda didn’t know.

I looked at the photo—another print of the one I’d found in the library. The one with the faces scratched out. But in this one the faces were undamaged, and they stared out of the picture at me.

In the photo a woman and a man stood arm in arm on the lakeshore, with Miles and Flora, by the boathouse—exactly where the redheaded woman stood today. The man was the one I’d seen at the library window, and the woman was the same one I’d seen at the lake.

It was the couple I’d seen playing cards on the boat.

“Who are they?” I said, though I knew. I knew.

Flora’s smile was chilly. “You know who they are, silly. That’s Lucy. Norris and Lucy.”

There were dozens of questions I should have asked. What did you do with Norris and Lucy? What did they do to you? Did you like them? Do you miss them? But suddenly I was too scared. I couldn’t have said what frightened me, but I was shaking. But why? Lucy and Norris were dead. They couldn’t be here on the island. There had to be another explanation for the weird things that had been happening.

Suddenly, I couldn’t stand there anymore, looking at their faces, at smug little Flora looking at me.

I said, “They look nice, Flora. They look like very nice people. I guess you learned a lot from them. But you know what? I’m really tired. I need to go take a nap.”

I hurried off to my room and fell on my bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the photo and about the couple I’d seen on the boat. And about what Linda had told me. Something didn’t add up. If Lucy and Norris were dead, I couldn’t have seen them. But if they were alive, what were they doing on the island, and why didn’t the children see them? Were they all playing some crazy mind game with me?

I was curious to find out if, at dinner, Flora would give any sign that she’d shown me the photo. I wondered if she regretted it, or if she was afraid I’d mention it or that Miles might find out. But she was as lighthearted and chatty as ever. Her dark eyes were trusting and innocent. She didn’t seem like someone who’d just given up a secret. What she’d shown me that afternoon was just a photo of a teacher and a handyman who used to work here. But I knew it was more than a photo. It was the first turning of the key that might unlock a chest that I wasn’t sure I wanted to open.

Linda had made a delicious salad with tuna, olives, ham, and hardboiled eggs. But I wasn’t hungry. I chewed every mouthful for a long time, so it would look like I was eating.

Somehow I got through the meal and helped Linda clean up. I said good night to the children. Somehow I kept myself from blurting out what I had to say until Linda and I were sitting on the porch with our pot of chamomile tea.

I said, “I need to tell you something. Something strange.” I told myself to keep calm. The story I had to tell was so peculiar that I had to be very reasonable and clear.

I told Linda everything: how I’d seen the couple on the boat, and then the man at the library window, and in the tower, and then the scratched-out photo, and the woman on the lakeshore, and then the picture of Norris and Lucy.

“Where did you find the photo?” Linda said.

“In a book,” I answered. I thought it would be okay to keep back one little detail. If I confessed that Flora had shown it to me, and Linda mentioned it to Flora, the little girl would never trust me again.

Linda sighed and stared out at the night. On the lawns the lightning bugs were putting on their shooting-star show.

Finally she said, “It’s something that happens, Jack. Welcome to adult life. Remember that movie where the guy says, ‘I see dead people’?”

“The one with Bruce Willis?” I said. “Sure.”

“Well,” said Linda, “the truth is, everyone sees dead people. Often I see a shadow at the edge of my field of vision, and I’m sure it’s Lucy or Norris, though I know it couldn’t be. I think I see my husband coming out to the garden, the way he used to when he was well. Every time I go to the mainland, I imagine I see him walking down the street. But guess what? It’s not him. No matter how much I want it to be him. Death doesn’t mean they’ve left your mind, and your mind sends messages to your eyes that sometimes have nothing to do with what you actually see. Do you ever think you see your mom?”

“Not really,” I said. “I don’t remember her that well.” I had the feeling that Linda was talking to herself. Because if she thought about it a minute, she’d realize I’d never seen Norris and Lucy alive, so how could I be seeing them now? And how could I have seen them on the ferry on my way here, before I’d ever heard of them? And I was getting tired of her always talking about her dead husband.

Linda sighed. “I don’t know what you saw, Jack, or what you think you saw. But you didn’t see them. Norris and Lucy are dead. I promise you. I had to go to the mainland and identify their bodies. It was not a pleasant job. I haven’t forgotten. They were dead. You didn’t see them here.”

“So are you saying I saw their ghosts?”

“There are no ghosts,” said Linda. “Just people’s imaginations, and you obviously have a vivid one. Who knows what vibes you’re picking up, what you’re getting from the kids? Haven’t you and someone else—someone you’re close to—ever thought exactly the same thing at the same moment? It used to happen with me and my husband all the time. Sometimes we’d wake up in the morning and find out we’d dreamed … well, not exactly the same dream, but dreams with the same things in them. Maybe you’re psychic, Jack. Stranger things happen, believe me.”

Linda’s voice faded away, and I thought of how once you and I fell asleep on the beach. And when we woke up, we’d both dreamed about schools. Schools of fish. But your school was full of crustaceans, and mine of baby starfish. Remember how weird that was, and how happy it made us?

Maybe I am psychic. Which would mean you’d better be careful, Sophie. Be careful what you do and say and who you hang out with. Because I’m going to know. Meanwhile,

Love from your psychic boyfriend,

Jack

DEAR SOPHIE,

It’s been another long time without a letter from you. I’ve started to get that uneasy feeling I get when you don’t write.

I’m not trying to guilt you, Sophie. But the truth is, I haven’t been feeling all that well lately. It’s not exactly physical. More mental, in a way. I’m edgy, but it’s more than that. I feel as if the colors of everything have gotten a little brighter, and sounds a little louder, and when the kids speak to me, their voices have a tinny echo, like I’m hearing them from the far end of a tunnel or over a bad phone connection.

It doesn’t happen all the time. I have these little spells, and then they pass, and I’m normal again. Do you think I could have something wrong with my brain? My mom died young when something went wrong with her brain.... Well, I’m not going to think about that now.

Otherwise I’ve been fine. And it’s mostly been quiet here. Miles finished reading his book on Antarctica and started one about the North Pole. Flora never mentioned showing me the photo of Norris and Lucy. She and I have been playing tennis and collecting tadpoles and throwing them back in the lake. I haven’t seen any ghosts, so maybe that’s all over. Maybe I was getting sick, and now this weird brain thing means I’ve got some kind of virus, and now it will get better.

Like I said, I’ve been fine.

That is, until last night.

I wish I could remember what I was dreaming when I woke up. Because I had that feeling that waking up was part of the dream, or as if waking up was the answer to a question the dream was asking. I wish I could remember what made me get out of bed and go to the window.

Maybe it was the full moon. It was so blindingly bright that the lawn outside the house seemed as if it was illuminated by stadium lights.

I sensed something moving on the lawn before I saw what it was.

It was Flora in her white nightdress, gliding across the wet grass. She was heading for the lake, and she seemed to be staring at the other shore—at the place where I’d seen the redheaded woman I still can’t bring myself to call Lucy. Something about Flora’s posture made her look as if she’d heard her name called and was answering the call.

“Linda,” I shouted. “Flora’s outside.” I threw on my clothes and ran out. Linda appeared from her wing of the house, running right behind me. Linda grabbed Flora, who started screaming. Linda hugged her and held her tight.

I can still hear Flora crying with terror. But of course she was frightened. We’d scared her.

“Where am I?” Flora said.

“You’re outside,” I said. “You’re fine.”

“You’re with us. We’re right here.” Linda gathered Flora up in her arms and slung her over her shoulder.

I asked, “Do you want me to take her?”

“Flora’s a feather,” Linda said, and we turned back toward the house.

Miles was standing in the doorway, watching us, his eyes as cold as the stars in the sky above us.

Okay, enough for now. I need to get some sleep. I’m starting to feel light-headed. Did I mention I haven’t been sleeping well? I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’ll just lie here with my eyes closed and think about you and wonder what you’re doing.

Love,

Jack

DEAR DAD,

I had a little virus or something, but I think it’s gone now. I didn’t want to worry you. That’s why I didn’t mention it. But like I said, everything’s cool. The summer’s rushing by, and to tell you the truth, I’m counting the days till I get home. But I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll write more soon. By the way, you never mentioned if you’ve seen Sophie. Let me know.

Love,

Jack

DEAR JACK,

I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I wish you’d told me you weren’t well. I’d rather hear everything that’s happening with you, even if there’s a problem. Especially when there’s a problem. And you hadn’t written for a while, so I was getting concerned. So I was happy to hear you’re okay.

Oh, I forgot to tell you. I did see Sophie. Last week. I’d been working hard all day, and the doctor whose cabinets I’m building had been giving me a hard time. So to make myself feel better, I stopped off for ice cream on the way home.

A car full of kids was parked outside the ice cream place, all laughing and having a good time. I thought I saw Sophie in the front seat, next to some guy. I almost felt like she saw me and recognized me and didn’t want me to notice her.

But when she could tell I’d seen her, she got out of the car and came over and said hello. She asked me how you were and told me to say hello to you and to give you her love. It seemed a little strange to me that she was asking me how you were. I figured you must be writing to her more than you write to me. But what do I know about kids today? Maybe you’re practicing telepathy or something. Or maybe she’s gotten a million letters from you, and she didn’t want me to feel left out.

She told me the kids in the car were her cousins. Which is why I’m telling you. Otherwise I might not have mentioned the whole thing.

Anyhow, she sends her love. And so do I.

Your dad

DEAR JACK,

Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re not feeling well, you should tell someone. I have to go now, but I’m worried about you. Write me soon.

Love,

Sophie

DEAR SOPHIE,

Nice of you to write, even if it was about fifteen words. Nice of you to be so concerned.

Actually, I’ve been okay. But things haven’t gotten any less bizarre.

After Flora’s little sleepwalking incident—that’s what Linda and I decided it probably was—Linda thought it would be a good idea to take her to see a doctor on the mainland. She was sure there was nothing wrong, but she wanted to get it checked out. Linda asked if I was okay with staying on the island with Miles overnight.

I said I was, though in fact it made me jumpy. The last time Linda left me alone, just for the day, was when Norris’s ghost appeared for the first time. And now, all those visitations later, who knew what would happen if Linda left for a whole day and night?

On the other hand, there were no ghosts. It was only me and Miles. Lately he’s been pretty low maintenance, reading his exploration books and putting down the book only when I make him come outside for tennis or a boat ride. I tell him that his uncle isn’t paying me for him to read exactly what he’d be reading if I weren’t there.